


and you think my bruised knees are sorta pretty, and i think your tired eyes are kinda nice

by caryophyllaceae (xphantomhive)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom John, Dirty Talk, It just happened, M/M, Nipple Play, Run-On Sentences, Top Dave, a little bit, again not a lot, and i hate the saying "striders are riders", and then i'll raise the rating, anyway, feel free to tell me if it isn't, i'm asexual and this was really hard for me, in my world john egbert is a bottom bitch, is mature a high enough rating???, it wasn't even supposed to be smut tbh??, just a lil, just a lil nipple touch, just some, kinda body worship???, maybe underage???, not tons, okay so, proper prep !!!, purposely lowercase, the kids might be like sixteen or seventeen so i guess so, vanilla sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:10:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphantomhive/pseuds/caryophyllaceae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you love this boy so much that it hurts, so much that every time you look at him and his dumb bucktoothed smile that your heart threatens to pop out of your chest because fuck, do you love him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and you think my bruised knees are sorta pretty, and i think your tired eyes are kinda nice

**Author's Note:**

> this shit was seven fucking pages in google docs, and it wasn't even supposed to be smut.
> 
> fucking hell.

you lay your hand gently on his face and turn it upward so you can reach his neck with ease, and when you lean down to kiss that sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder he breathes a quiet, “dave, please,” and fists the fabric of your sweet god tier pjs in his small hands. you tell him that he needs to be patient and you know how hard that is for him because john egbert is not the type of boy to be patient for anything, and you understand why his patience is so thin now, because yours is too. you haven’t seen him for three years but you sent him walls of red text every day even though he wouldn’t get the messages because you were lightyears away.

“calm down,” you tell him softly, tugging on the bottom of his shirt so he’ll pull it up over his head for you. you know he isn’t very good at cues, but he gets this one, and his thin fingers reach to the bottom of his shirt and he pulls it off slowly, almost like he’s giving you a show. you know he is when he wiggles his hips just so, just enough to get your heart beating faster and to make your mouth feel dry, so dry that it feels like you haven’t had a drink of anything in years. “we’re getting there, baby. i know patience is hard for you.”

he whines lightly, and it’s mostly breath than anything and you suppose it’s because he’s a breath player and that comes easily to him. you wonder, idly, if he’s quiet in bed. you suppose you’re going to figure it out. “yours, too.” he says, tugging at the hem of your shirt with impatient hands and because you love him you comply, pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it aside. you know that you’re going a bit slow and that you don’t have enough time for that, because you’re on a meteor with many other people who may walk in on you at any time, two of those people being yours and john’s ectosisters.

“you have a lot of scars.” he comments quietly, softly, like if he talks too loud the atmosphere will shatter and all the peace that you have find will make a swift retreat from you. he touches the scars with gentle fingertips, almost as if he’s counting them, and you push his hands away. he looks at you like a wounded animal and you give him a small smile, you give him assurance, because he knows that you never smile for anyone. john egbert is the only person you will smile for because he is the only one that you love with the entirety of your heart.

you clear your throat because the silence that has fallen between the two of you is very awkward. “i hate them,” you tell him. “you shouldn’t have to look at ‘em, john.”

he nuzzles his head against your shoulder and you almost want to tell him that this is sex, sex with your best bro and that it’s supposed to be sexy, but you don’t have the heart to do so because he’s so content with what’s happening, and you don’t want to scare him off. “i like them, dave. they’re nice. just like your eyes.” he says, and then his fingers are on the shades he gave you so long ago with a note to spread your wings a bit, and he’s taking them off of your face and setting them as softly as he can on the table next to your bed. the bed that you should have him on, the bed that you should be seducing him on, but instead you’re standing up and his face is tucked against your collarbone and you’ve only got your shirts off.

“pants.” you say simply, because you’re trying to move things along a bit. he pulls his face out of your collarbone and frowns at you, but reaches down to unbutton his pants and slip them off, anyway. they pool at his ankles and look like a blue puddle until he steps out of them and kicks them aside. he tells you that you need to take yours off, too, but before you have the chance to do so he slips them off for you. then his lips are against yours and his hands are on your hips, and you take the chance while he’s distracted to slip your hand down to his chest and tweak one of his nipples. he gives the most adorable little yelp, detaching his lips from yours but keeping your foreheads together, or maybe they’re stuck because both of you are sweating.

he says nothing, but in retaliation he grinds a hand against your boxers. when you let out a small groan, he tells you, “that’s what you get.” you know that his pranksters gambit is rising slowly from his sneak attack, but you plan to remedy that. you snap the band of his boxers and he shoves your shoulder angrily, but before he can do anything else you’re tugging them off of him in one fell swoop. it doesn’t take long for him to start complaining. “why am i the only one naked here? get your boxers off, dave.”

he’s trying to be sexy now, you know, but he giggles as he pulls your boxers down because you reach to tickle that spot right beneath his ribcage that makes him squirm. you remember from that one time you had visited him in seattle, and you think it is absolutely outrageous that you love this boy so much that you would hold onto such a small detail from the one time you had visited him. “stop that,” he says, swatting your hands away. “do you have lube?”

you snort. “i’m a lonely teenage boy who has been stuck on a meteor for three years by himself, john. of course i have lube."

you let go of him for a second to reach for the lube that you keep in the single drawer in the table next to your bed. he whines at your absence, but it isn’t long before you’re back on him, moving your lips together, reaching down to run your hands over his nipples and this time instead of getting pissed at you, he arches his back and moans your name breathily. your question has been answered: john egbert is quiet during sex.

“this ‘s gonna hurt,” you tell him, because you’ve never done this to yourself because you always planned on being a top because no way were you letting someone stick anything up your ass, but you know from rose’s terrifying fanfictions that are occasionally homoerotic that if you’ve never taken it before, the first time you’re being stretched will hurt. “bare with me, kay, john?”

he hides his face in your neck and nods. “okay.”

you dump a liberal amount of lube onto your hands and spread it over your fingers, rubbing them for a few seconds so it warms up. then you rub circles into john’s back with your un-lubed hand and reach the other down to his backside, prodding against him. he makes a noise between a whine and a moan, and you aren’t sure if that’s good or not. it takes a few minutes before you can finally slip a finger inside, and once you do, john gives you an all-out moan. it’s still very quiet, of course, but you find that his quietness is actually pretty damn adorable. “dave, dave, dave,” he chants, a mantra. his head is still hidden in your neck and you can feel the hot splash of tears against your shoulder, so you shush him.

“hey, no, don’t cry,” you say. “‘s okay, babe. ‘m gonna take good care of you.”

he relaxes just enough at that for you to slip a second finger in, and once you have two fingers all up in him like nobody’s business you try your best at scissoring. you’ve never done this before and you are very concerned about your best bro, especially when you feel more tears fall onto your shoulder. “shh, y’er okay, listen to my shitty accent show itself ‘cause ‘m turned on and start laughin’.” you tell him.

to your relief, he breathes out a giggle, and relaxes once again. “last finger, baby. y’er takin’ this like a champ, so proud of you.”

“no,” he says. “don’t say that, please don’t.”

it takes a minute for what he’s talking about to kick in, and then you’re peppering kisses all over his face and telling him that you’re sorry, so sorry, that you forgot, and he’s looking up at you with blue eyes and touching your face carefully. “dave, it’s okay. i’m okay. i just...dad.”

you nod because you know exactly what he’s talking about. it’s like if someone calls you bro and you tense up because you miss bro but you also don’t want to be like him, never like him, you will never starve your kid or force them into strifes that left them with ugly scars all over their back and stomach for the rest of their natural born lives. “i know. didn’ mean to be an insensitive prick, won’t happen again, promise. ready for a third?”

he hides his head in your neck again and nods. you swallow the lump in your throat and add your third finger to the mix. john doesn’t start crying this time, but he does bite down on your shoulder. not enough to break the skin or leave a mark or to hurt you, just enough so that you know he’s experiencing more pain than pleasure right now, and all you want to do is make it better. you wiggle your fingers around for a few minutes before you find yourself accidentally brushing against something inside of john that makes him keen quietly against your shoulder. “a-again. do it again, dave.”

you try to, but it’s very hard because you aren’t even sure how you found it in the first place. you prod around for a few minutes, and you know that when his back arches and he grinds down against your fingers that you have found it. he takes his head away from your neck, hands on your shoulders, squeezing tightly. not tight enough to hurt, because john is too gentle for that, but tight enough to let you know that he is ready. however, you still wait until he breathes a very small, very soft, “i’m ready, dave. you can stop now.”

you pull your fingers out of him and wipe them off on his hip. he makes a face at you that pretty much says, “dude, that was really gross.” you laugh at him because yes, this is sex with your best friend and it’s weird and it should be awkward but it isn’t, this is you and him and you need him to giggle and make stupid faces because you need to know that this is him and you, not that this is him and you in some dumb fanfiction where everything is sexy, but also very, very fake.

“gonna need you to face a different way, john.” you say to him, and he nods, turning away from you and leaning over the bed. you’ve never been so thankful that you agreed to swap rooms with rose because she thought the bed in here was too high. you use the rest of the lube to coat yourself so that hopefully you can make this as pain-free as possible for john. you lean over him and nibble at his ear, whisper, “‘m gonna start pushin’. tell me if it hurts, alright, baby?”

he nods and buries his face in the mattress. you reach over him to grab the pillow you don’t use from it’s spot propped against the headboard, and you tell him to lift his head and when he does you set it underneath him. “you can bite down on that pillow if ‘s too much for ya’.”

he nods again. you take a deep breath because this is the first time you’ve ever done something like this. not that you haven’t daydreamed about it before (you’ve sent john countless streams of messages about it, the dreams you’ve had and the scenarios you thought up, but you highly doubt - highly hope - that he hasn’t seen them). you only get about an inch in before he’s crying out, “stop, stop, hurts, too much!” so you stop instantly. he has his head turned to the side so he can breathe and you notice that there are tears in his eyes, so you lean down to kiss them away.

he breathes raggedly for a few moments, before he says, “keep going.”

you keep going.

you have to stop every few seconds, and that’s okay. you’d rather john not be in pain the entire time you’re doing the nasty with him. he breathes slowly, now, but you refuse to move until he tells you to do so. “alright, you can move, dave.”

you do so. you go slow at first, and he makes a few noises that you recognize as uncomfortable noises so you bend your body over his and kiss the back of his head. “‘s okay, babe. no worries. i only go as fast as ya’ want me to.” you are sure to continue going slow until john tells you to go a little bit faster. you do as he commands because you are absolutely, positively, under his control. you start moving just a bit faster.

it takes a very short amount of time before john is calling out, “f-f- _ahh_ -d-dave, g-g _ooh_ -fast-er.”

you nod your head even though it’s very unlikely he can see you, probably too lost in pleasure to notice very much else. you move faster until you’re going at what you would like to call a brutal pace, and his back is arching and his eyes are rolling back in his head and you’re leaning over him to whisper in his ear, “y-yeah, you like this, don’t you? so good fer me, takin’ my cock like a champ,” and he moans obscenely. despite that fact, he is still pretty quiet. you are louder than him, but you aren’t moaning like he is - you’re groaning and grunting. “y-you ready to lose it all for me, yet, baby?”

he nods and his buckteeth clamp down on the pillow. you’re glad that you had thought of giving him the pillow to bite down on; he looks absolutely amazing with his teeth clamped around it, trying his best not to scream loud enough for the whole meteor to hear. “c’mon baby, ‘m jus’ waitin’ fer ya’, yer ‘m biggest concern.” you say to him.

it isn’t very long before he splatters himself all over the sheets. he’s panting heavily and you go to pull out of him, but he wraps his legs around you and keeps you in him. “y-you can,” he goes to say, but he can’t get the word out, and you nod because you know exactly what he’s trying for. you thrust a few more times and he makes pitiful noises at the overstimulation, which makes you glad that you finish so quickly. you pull out of him and move the pillow back to it’s original spot, moving john along with it. you try to leave to go get something to wipe him down with, but he’s reaching to you, fingers in your hair, trying to pull you back to him. “n-no. stay with me.”

how can you argue with that?

you crawl next to him and he turns over to wrap his arms around you and pull you close. he’s a whole foot shorter than you (you at six feet tall, him at five feet) so he doesn’t find much problem in curling his body into yours. you can see his knees from here, bruised because he’s clumsy and he stumbles a lot. or maybe it’s because he’s a fighter, because he fell to the ground more times than he would probably like to admit. you think it’s weird that you think his knees are so pretty, but you try not to dwell on it. he yawns against your collarbone. “you have tired eyes, you know.” he tells you, but he doesn’t explain and you don’t ask him to.

he falls asleep after no more than five minutes, and your phone starts going crazy from the bedside table. jeez, you’re trying to bathe in the afterglow, who the fuck has the audacity to be bothering you right now? or maybe it’s more than one person. honestly, you probably think that it’s more than one person. you’re proved right when you check over your most recent pesterchum messages.

TT: Congratulations, Dave.

TT: You have become a man.

TT: I have never been more proud of you.

you roll your eyes. next set of messages.

CG: CAN YOU FUCKING KEEP IT DOWN NEXT TIME?

CG: I DON’T NEED TO HEAR THE SOUND OF YOUR GROSS HUMAN MATING RITUAL.

CG: I AM OFFICIALLY SCARRED FOR LIFE, YOU ASSHOLE.

another eye roll. next set.

GG: dave!!!!

GG: you better make an honest woman of my brother, or i will hunt you down and skin you alive!!

GG: please take good care of him!! i will make sure you suffer if not :)

that one gets a smile. you message harley back.

TG: no worries harley

TG: hes all covered under the light of my love and shit

TG: ill take good care of him because i really dont have any doubts that youre being 100% serious about skinning me alive and/or making me suffer

GG: youre damn right i am!!!!!!!

GG: you will become my carpet, dave, it will be you

GG: but i know you love him so im not worried!!!

TG: i dont love him thats gross

TG: and taboo homosexuality is so taboo harley

GG: :)

GG: you love him a lot, huh??

TG: …

TG: fuck yeah hes everything ive ever wanted

GG: knew it!!

GG: just treat him right, ok?? im trusting you!!

TG: cross my heart hope to die

TG: stick a needle in my eye

TG: skin me alive if he ever comes crying to you about some dumb shit i did

GG: oh, dave!!

GG: everything you do is dumb, so if he tells me you did something dumb i cant exactly skin you alive, silly :)

GG: but if you break his heart or anything of the sort i promise that i will fucking end you and that you will suffer deeply

TG: yeah i know

TG: youre a good sister you know that

GG: of course i do :)

GG: every good sister does

TG: stop sending me smiley faces its creeping me the fuck out

GG: :) :) :) :) :)

GG: <3!! take care of him!!!!!

you give a heavy, happy sigh.

TG: shitty text hearts

TG: were such good girlfriends harley

TG: <3

TG: hes in good hands

GG: i know, dave :)

you give a final smile and turn your phone off, casting it aside.

you’ve got an afterglow to bask in.

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so, i'm not big on smut? other than reading it to make fun of it. some smut i genuinely like, but as an asexual i kinda just prefer making fun/laughing at it? this was not going to even be smut, so if it was bad, well, i'm sorry. i only wrote smut like, one other time.
> 
> also, accidentally going along with the johndave week theme of today? haha.
> 
> gosh, this was so vanilla. i don't think i could do rough shit.


End file.
